


A birthday gift from Fairy-Godmother

by KendraPendragon



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotions, F/M, Fluff, Love, Molly having fun with that, PWP, Plugs, Riding Crop, Sherlock being tied to it, Sherlock's Chair, Sherlolly - Freeform, Smut, Teasing Molly, Wartenberg Wheel, scalpel, suffering sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-06-06 14:05:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6757159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendraPendragon/pseuds/KendraPendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is mainly PWP, let's face it. This is Sherlock being tied to his chair, surrounded by a bunch of toys. Molly finds him like this and instead of being a good girl and freeing him immediately, she allows herself to be bad for a change. Not that Sherlock would complain. Well, a bit. He's Sherlock, after all...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Message from M

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AllTheBellsInVenice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheBellsInVenice/gifts), [MizJoely](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/gifts).



> I'd like to gift this work to those wonderful women, who always write this delicious smut. This is me trying to live up to their high standards and triying to repay them for all the warmth they let me feel.  
> I adore you and your writing so much, hope my humble story will please you, ladies! *bows*

_Beep beep._

 

Molly rolled her eyes. This was text number 13. She shouldn’t even read them anymore, she told herself as she picked up her phone.

  
_It hurts so bad. I can’t stand this, Molly. I need a fix._

 

Her eyes widened. The former messages have been the typical ‘come at one’ text, but this one…this one scared her. And it made her furious.

Why today? Of all days he could choose to let her in, he chooses this day?!

Life wasn’t bloody fair.

“I’m sorry, guys, I’ve got to go.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Meena glared at her, her glass of wine clonking on the table, spilling some of the red liquid on her fancy white table cloth.

“I’m so sorry. He needs me.”

Molly began packing her things, throwing apologetic looks around the round table, the six people gathered around looking angry, as well.

“He doesn’t need you. Not today. Not on your bloody birthday!”

Molly opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t find words. She hadn’t told Meena what had caused the distance between Sherlock and her, and she didn’t intend to do so now. This was neither the time nor the place.

“I’ll make it up to you all, I promise. Thank you so much for this, Meena. I love you.”

When she saw the tears in Molly’s eyes, Meena’s expression softened.

“He doesn’t deserve you, Molly. Tell him that.”

“I think he knows.”

They pecked each other on the cheek and Molly quickly hugged the few friends she had in her life before she stormed out of Meena’s flat. Their hurt looks were replaced by the image of a very high Sherlock Holmes standing in her lab. If he would do this again, God help him, she would beat the crap out of him.

 

And if this was only a bad joke, she’d kill him.

 

She would absolutely kill him.

 

~oOo~

 

When she finally reached Baker Street, her heart was beating faster than usual. She had worked herself up in a quite anxious state, so afraid that Sherlock had shot up even after she had texted back that she was on her way. After throwing some money at the cabbie – a thing she found very rude and would never do under normal circumstances – she jumped out of the car, fumbling for the spare key he had given her years ago.

Just when she had inserted it did she notice the piece of paper sticking to the door.

It read ‘ _For the birthday girl’_.

 

A little creeped out, she took it and unfolded it.

 

_Dear Molly,_

 

_happy birthday! Sorry to steal you away from your dinner, but I couldn’t wait any longer to give you your gift._

_It’s waiting upstairs, a nicely wrapped package._

_Go have a look!_

 

_Love,_

_M_

 

Molly frowned. M?

Her eyes widened when it clicked.

‘Oh my God! Moriarty!’

Molly hastened up the stairs. When she turned around the corner, there was another note sticking to the wall.

 

_Not Moriarty, silly!  
Geesh, how many times does this man have to die so everyone believes he’s really gone?!_

_Just think of me your fairy-godmother._

_M_

 

 

Her nose wrinkled. Fairy-godmother? M?

…Martha?

 

What was this? Some joke?

More confused than ever, Molly trotted up the rest of the stairs, surprised at founding the doors to Sherlock’s flat closed. She rolled her eyes in annoyance when she saw the note sticking to the one leading to the living room.

 

_Shhhhhhhh_

 

That’s all it said. Molly was annoyed. And intrigued. She couldn’t help it. Biting her bottom lip she carefully opened the door. The only source of light was the fire-place. She heard the fire cracking and saw the shadows of the flames dancing on Sherlock’s couch and wall. Carefully, she stepped into the room – and stopped dead.

 

Sherlock.

 

Tied to his chair.

 

Blindfolded.

 

Gagged.

 

Sitting in the middle of the room, as if…presented.

 

Two end tables on each side of the chair, packed with various items.

 

…There was a note sticking to his purple shirt. 

 

Molly scanned the room and the kitchen for any sign of life. As she came closer, Sherlock’s head snapped up. He mumbled against his gag, pulled at his ties. His hands balled into fists.

 

Oh.

 

He had been tied against his will.

 

Molly was about to hasten to him when the first note popped up in her head: ‘ _A nicely wrapped package in the living room_.’

What the heck?!

Gnawing at her lip, and throwing a long look at the struggling consulting detective, she decided to read the note first. She could still free him then.

 

_Surprise!_

_Hope you weren’t too shocked._

_Don’t worry, I didn’t hurt him._

_If you want to do it though, just choose your weapon from the items I supplied._

_Don’t be afraid._

_Just enjoy._

_He’s all yours._

 

_Love,_

_M_

 

 

‘All mine.’

Her eyes darted down to Sherlock. Heat filled her cheeks.

All hers.

Oh, this thought was too dangerous!

She couldn’t!

Her eyes fell on that long throat she adored so much.

 

God, what was she thinking!

No! No, no, no, no, no!

Hell, it would be rape!

 

This thought made her flinch. Now she hurried to losen the black satin ribbon over his mouth. As soon as it was gone, the detective bellowed.

“What the fuck took you so long?! I’ve been tied to this chair for hours! How dare you let me wait?! What could possibly be more important than freeing me?!”

Molly bit her tongue.

Rage and disappointment burnt a hole into her heart. He didn’t even know it was her birthday. Because he didn’t care. He had never cared. Not really.

 

She should just go and leave him. One night tied to his chair would teach him a lesson.

With tears pricking in her eyes she threw the damned ribbon in his face and turned around.

A white piece of paper sticking to the door caught her eyes.

It only upset her more.

Molly ripped the note off the door and unfolded it.

 

_He yelled at you, didn’t he?  
Bloody git. I told him to be a good boy. _

_He’s such an arse. After everything you have done for him!_

_You have risked your career for him!_

_And to top it all off you left a lovely evening with your friends tonight to be with him._

_Arsehole!_

_That man deserves a punishment!  
Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. _

_Just leave._

_You’re too good for him, anyway._

 

_M_

 

Yeah, he definitely was a git. M was right. She could have had a wonderful night with her friends, but nooo! She had to come to rescue a man who didn’t give a damn about her, who had never cared to acknowledge how much she loved him!

Gritting her teeth, Molly crumbled the paper.

“What are you doing? You’re not leaving, are you? You better not leave without untying me, Molly Hooper, or I swear to God, I’ll find you! Then we’ll see how your mood will be after spending four bloody hours in a chair, blindfolded, with nothing to occupy your mind!”

She threw the paper ball at him.

It bounced off his mop of curls.

He sucked in some air.

She snorted.

 

Sherlock began pulling at his ties again, cursing her.

“I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone. I’ll free myself! Just go! I don’t want you, anyway!”

Oh, that bloody child!

Molly threw the door close.

Sherlock froze and his lips parted.

He listened.

Then he relaxed a bit.

“I know you didn’t leave. No footsteps on the stairs. It takes more to fool me, Molly.”

Molly didn’t reply. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and watched him, his head twitching left and right, listening for any sound she’d make.

After a minute or so, he let out a breath and sank back into his chair, his head falling backwards.

“Just untie me, woman. I’m so fucking bored. It feels like thousands of centipedes are crawling over my skin. If I have to sit here much longer I’ll go crazy. And it will be all your fault.”

He shouted the last part, but Molly didn’t listened.

Her eyes were wandering over the items on the end tables: A bucket of ice cubes, whipped cream, honey, one glass of wine, the colorful feather of a peacock, a scalpel, a riding crop, a black candle, a Wartenberg wheel, a variety of plugs, lube…and a golden bowl full of condoms.

She gulped.

“Molly.”

His voice made her shudder and she closed her eyes. It was soft now, almost begging.

“I’m sorry I yelled. Please untie me. Please.”

Molly bit her lips. Her nipples hardened just from the sound of his voice.

Heat spread within her body, pooling between her legs.

 

Dear Lord in heaven, what was she thinking?! She couldn’t.

 

Her eyes fell on his pale, exposed throat. And this adorable mole.

 

No.

 

She shouldn’t…

 

…Then why on earth was she taking off her jacket?

 


	2. The death of the purple shirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly undresses Sherlock pathologist-style and chooses her first weapon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dark? No, this won't be dark. I mean, I have an angsty version of this which almost tore my heart writing it, but I decided against this. I want this to be fun. :) I try to keep them in character. Feedback and professional advice is always welcome. :)

His head snapped up when he heard the rustling of her clothes.

“You’re by the door. You’re taking off your jacket.”

He sounded like a drowning man desperate for air, just that in his case it was desperation for data.

She threw her jacket on the couch.

He told her she had done it.

“You’re taking off your shoes. Why are you taking off your shoes?”

She had no idea. Her fingers worked on their own. Molly couldn’t think clearly anymore. She just saw him, tied up so nicely, just for her, and all those lovely items surrounding him.

The sound of a zipper being pulled down made Sherlock freeze.

So did Molly.

Her eyes stared at him, observed his face very closely.

She saw his adam’s apple bob, then his lips parted.

“W-What are you undoing your trousers for?” 

She had no idea. All she knew that she was taking them off, as well as her socks. Her head was empty when she folded them neatly and put them on his coffee table.

When she turned back to him, only wearing a multi-coloured blouse and her underwear, his eyebrows knitted.

While Molly was coming to terms with the fact that she was standing in Sherlock’s living room without wearing pants, she could observe his mind racing.

His body stiffened when she took a first step in his direction.

“This is Molly Hooper, right?”

An amused smile played around her lips as she crossed the distance between them. Now she was standing right in front of the chair, between his spread legs.

Even though his eyes were blindfolded,  the confusion was so very visible in his face. It was fascinating and a bit scary to see him being unsure of something.

To give him the answer he obviously craved, she stretched out her arm, her wrist almost touching his nose.

As soon as he felt the warmth of her body on his face he flinched, only to suck in a deep breath a second later.

Molly bit her lip.

“It is you”, he breathed, sounding almost frightened now. 

It turned her on. So very bad.

With her heart beating in her throat she put her knee on the chair.

Sherlock sucked in some air.

“We don’t do this, Molly”, did he breathe helplessly, his hands balling into fists as his pathologist lowered herself onto his lap, watching his face closely. 

She didn’t miss the little shaky breath that slipped through his parted lips when her pelvis touched his.

“Mol-“

His words were cut off when she let her fingers wander into his hair.

 

Somewhere, in the far back of her mind, Molly knew that this was crazy. Letting her most secret dreams come true could have repercussions which would have the power to not only destroy their friendship but also her heart. The thing was tough, she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when she could finally, after all these years, feel the warmth of his lean body and the soft texture of his curls. Not when he smelled so bloody delicious and his hot, ragged breath hit her throat.

His open mouth caught her attention while she kept running her fingers through his hair. His bottom lip was trembling. She wanted to lick it. Kiss it. Suck it into her mouth. Bite it.

Her hips rolled.

Sherlock gasped.

The ties strained.

Molly shuddered.

She could feel his cock, swelling and hardening oh so rapidly now that she was pressing her pussy against it.

What a thrill it was. How it was soothing her mind and soul that she could turn him on. All it took was another rolling of her hips and he was all hard and ready for her.

Luckily, he couldn’t see the triumphant, gloating grin on her face. He’d kill her for that.

Sherlock swallowed hard, his body stiff, his fingers digging into the leather of his chair.

He was waiting for her next move.

God, this man was so beautiful. Once again she let her fingers slide through his hair relishingly slow, coming a bit closer. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and rested her upper body against his.

Her heart was fluttering.

How intimate this felt, how wonderfully close. Molly looked down at her consulting detective (oh, he would be hers tonight, definitely), the love she felt for this man bubbling to the surface. It enchanted her. She could spent the rest of her life sitting in his lap like this.

“What are you doing? Talk to me.”

Sherlock’s shaky whisper traveled over her body, leaving goose bumps.

She smiled and bit her lip.

No, she wouldn’t talk to him. It would make it real, somehow. When she remained silent, maybe this would only be a dream. A wonderful dream.

 

Daring and naughty as she felt, she bent down to his ear. M had chosen a blindfold that left his ears exposed. Such a clever person. But she didn’t speak, even though she felt how anxious he was to hear her voice. Instead she brushed her too small lips over his ear cup.

He shivered.

Smiling, she did it again. Her hand wandered back into his hair. Gently she pulled, tilted his head so his ear was easier to reach. Oh so lightly did she trace the lines with her lips, placed a kiss onto his skin, only a whisper.

His ties strained again.

Then Molly closed her lips around his ear lobe and sucked.

Sherlock’s hips jerked up.

He groaned.

Molly ignored it.

Her eyes fell close as she placed kiss after kiss on his skin, leaving his ear, wandering down that exquisite throat. When his mole touched her bottom lip she let out a hum, closed her lips around it and sucked his sensitive skin into her mouth. The tip of her tongue circled the beloved mole.

Sherlock’s taste exploded in her mouth and she pulled at his hair again, bending his head until she had full, comfortable access to his throat.

His hips were jerking again and again, the poor man having no control over his body anymore. He was a panting mess in her arms, pulling at his ties.

Molly opened her eyes and looked up as she let the tip of her tongue slide up from his collar bone, all the way to his ear where her mouth claimed it again.

Sherlock’s brows rose and his bottom lip quivered as he gasped. His cock – big and hard as it was – pushed against her pussy.

“You’re wet, Molly. I can feel it. Your heat is seeping through the trousers…aren’t you wearing knickers?”  
The way he said ‘knickers’ made her smile. 

For him, she hooked her finger into her briefs and let them snap against her skin. He bit his lip when he heard. For a second he looked like he was struggling with himself.

“Take them off. Now.” 

A pleasant shiver ran up her spin at his urgent tone. It was funny how he tried to get in control of the situation. He was a proud man, after all. But tonight, Molly thought wickedly as she stood up, he would see how much better life could be if he swallowed that damned pride down…amongst other things.

Molly giggled at her own joke.

“Have you done it?” Sherlock asked impatiently. 

Molly shook her head. Her eyes fell on the table. Flames were dancing on the shiny little blade of the scalpel. Whoever that M was, he or she knew her very well.

Her hands closed around the familiar tool, letting the blade scrape the wood.

As expected, Sherlock’s head snapped around.

“A knife? No…scalpel. Why did you bring a scalpel? No, you didn’t bring it. It was already here, on that table. What table?”

Ignoring his fired deductions, Molly sat down between his legs. Patiently she untied his shoes and took them off together with his socks. Sherlock became very still again during this process and when she caressed his foot with her free hand, she saw him press his lips together.

Did he like that?

“I’m really not into foot stuff.”

Molly snorted and let go. Fine then.

Her hands closed around his calf and began a massage. The little hairs tickled her fingers. Molly enjoyed watching his face and shoulders relax. A bit longer, then her fingers wandered to his shin and let go completely.

Molly bit her lip as she carefully inserted the scalpel into his trouser leg and cut the fabric. The sound alerted Sherlock immediately. But Molly kept going, carefully destroying his expensive trousers. That they were pricey only added to the fun.

“You will pay for them.”

No, she wouldn’t.

Sherlock was relatively relaxed – and looking bored – for the cutting part. The bulge in his pants, however, was still there. The trousers sat tight around his thighs, so Molly put the scalpel away. A mischievous grin spread on her lips as she took the fabric into her hand and roughly tore it apart.  
Sherlock flinched, one move having ripped his leg up to his thigh.

“You’re stronger than I thought”, did he comment calmly, yet he swallowed hard. 

He flinched once again when she repeated the step on his second leg. But he remained silent this time and continued to be whilst she opened his belt, pulled it out and made two more careful cut at his hips. Now she could peel the top layer of his trousers away. She let it fall to the floor, her eyes glued to the outline of Sherlock Holmes’ cock in those grey briefs. A mouth-watering sight indeed. It took all her inner strength to not touch it right away. Instead she began opening the buttons of his shirt, from the bottom to the top.

“I’m surprised you don’t rip- ah, no, of course. It’s your favourite.”

Even though he couldn’t see she stuck her tongue out.

Bloody git.

His arrogance almost ruined the fun of unwrapping that gorgeous present. But not that much. Molly had waited years for this to happen. No mock or insult in the world could ruin the fun of taking off his shirt.

Unfortunately she couldn’t take it off completely. She couldn’t bring herself to cut it. It indeed was her favourite shirt.

Molly let out a disappointed sigh.

Sherlock bit his bottom lip.

“I have more than one purple shirt, Molly.”

The smile that spread on her lips would have blinded him. Quickly she rewarded him for his honesty by pecking his cheek. His lips twitched into a smile.

Now that she knew that there would be more Sherlock Holmes in his tight purple shirt, Molly destroyed this one within a minute.

As the remains of the shirt fell to the floor, Molly took in the sight of an almost naked Sherlock. She had to bite her lip not to let out a dreamy sigh.

But, so help her God, he truly was the most beautiful, most perfect man in the entire world. His physique was flawless; the broad chest, the curve of the shoulders, the narrow hips, the long, muscular legs…a sight to die for.

“Are you drooling yet? You’ve certainly waited long enough to get a look at me.”

The dreamy expression on Molly’s face turned into a rebellious pout.

His cocky smile made her grab the riding crop. When she pressed the leather tongue into his cheek, the smile vanished.

“So we’ll start with the riding crop…the irony is not lost on me.”

Sherlock swallowed hard, trying and failing at suppressing a shudder when the cool leather wandered along his jawbone and down his throat.

“You have to be careful. Too much force will leave visible bruises, too little force will have no effect o-“

Molly let the leather slap his shoulder. Sherlock was cut off mid sentence. His hands balled into fists.

“Yeah…yes, that’s the right amount”, he uttered hoarsely. “Which makes me wonder if you have do-“

Once again she interrupted him, slapping his chest.

It started heaving.

When Sherlock opened his mouth to speak once more, she slapped him again. That’s when he got it. He bit his tongue and limited himself to squirming in his seat whilst the leather continued to wander over his chest, arms, and down his belly. By the time it glided over his thigh there were two red spots where Molly hit him. It was a lovely sight, actually.

Molly bit her lip, the tongue of the riding crop wandering up and down his thigh. And then…

Sherlock’s mouth fell open when Molly let it slide up and down his length. A second later he pressed his lips together, the muscles in his arms flexing. Obviously he tried to fight the sensation his pathologist caused. But it in the end…

A satisfied smile spread on her lips when Sherlock let out a throaty moan.

 

For several minutes did she tease him with the riding crop, alternating between tenderly caressing his pale skin and slapping his chest, arms and inner thighs. Sherlock kept fighting her, so every desperate little moan he let out was a triumph that ran over Molly’s skin like warm summer rain.

It got too much for him, though, when she let the leather tongue slip into the tent his cock had built in his briefs. His hips jerked up and his head fell back for a second.

“God, Molly. I’ll come in my knickers if you keep doing this.”

She giggled. His voice sounded too adorable.

“Don’t laugh at me!” he protested – and got punished with a light slap on his cock. 

Sherlock flinched and groaned. A dark spot spread in his grey briefs.

Molly pulled out the riding crop and put it back on the table. Sherlock was panting in his chair, a deep blush on his cheeks. The pre-cum in his pants told Molly that he needed a break.

Molly was not finished with him, yet.

Hell no.

 


	3. Fire and Ice

Molly reached for the glass of wine and sipped it, standing in front of Sherlock and watching him slowly calm down. After his breathing was back to normal, he listened.

“You’re not seriously drinking wine while I’m tied to my chair, are you?”  
She smiled when he pulled at his ties. 

“It’s getting cold, Molly.”

It was very warm due to the closed doors and the fire, but if he insisted…

Molly straddled him.

Sherlock’s jaw clenched.

“I was thinking of a blanket.”

She just smiled and began weaving through his hair. This beautiful mop of curls. She watched the light of the fire dance on the silken strands. It was very relaxing. Not for Sherlock, though. His cock was pulsating against her pussy. Molly gently rolled her hips while she drank.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

‘Obviously,’ she thought. 

But so was he.

“At least get me something to drink. My throat is dry.”

Oh, what wicked thoughts entered her mind. Thoughts that made her blush a bright shade of red. It must be the wine. The glass was empty.

She put it back on the table. Then she looked at his mouth, rolling her hips relishingly slow over that lovely big cock. It fell open. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and leaned her upper body against his, riding him very slowly.

She had never noticed how expressive his mouth was, she thought while her fingertips brushed over his long throat. With each move of her hips the bottom lip quivered, opened a little more when she pressed her sex against his, a ragged breath escaping. It was fascinating.

Wondering how he would react, Molly now pressed and moved her hips in little circles.

To her greatest joy Sherlock let out a husky moan and his head fell back.

“Something to drink, Molly.”

She interrupted him with another movement and she could hear his finger dig into the leather armrest. How desperately he tried to appear unaffected. It was really silly. Did he really think his erect shaft and his body language weren’t telling? Did he seriously believe that he could fool her?

 

Silly, silly man.

 

Molly would show him. She shifted back to his legs before she reached for an ice cube. The first one slipped through her fingers and landed on the floor. She giggled while Sherlock deduced.

“Ice cubes?”

Admittedly, he was brilliant. She’d love to ask how on earth he figured that out, but she rather preferred to remain silent. It all felt more mysterious, somehow. Sexy…

“How many items are there? Tell me.”

He would learn soon enough.

For now she grabbed another ice cube and fisted her hand in his hair, bending his head backwards. Sherlock’s mouth opened automatically. Instead of putting it into his sweet mouth, she held the cube above it and waited for the first drop of water to fall between his lips.

“This will take forever”, the consulting detective complained. 

Molly only grinned. She had all the time in the world.

A few more drops fell into his mouth, then Molly let the cool surface run along his bottom lip and the tiny scar in the left corner. Her heart skipped a beat when his tongue darted out and licked it off. Again and again did she lure it out of its cave, her face lowering down to his.

All of a sudden, Sherlock’s lips opened and he turned his face towards her. Silently he begged for her kiss. A thousand butterflies were dancing in her belly now.

 

Something held her back. She couldn’t do it. It didn’t seem the right moment. And not the right reason. She had sworn herself that, should she ever kiss Sherlock Holmes, it would only be because he had told her that he loved her.

Her thumb brushed over his cool lip. It quivered. Molly’s heart skipped a beat when this beautiful mouth kissed her thumb.

With love in her heart Molly caressed his cheek.

Sherlock frowned.   
“Why won’t you kiss me?”

She had no answer to his ragged whisper. She just looked at the mouth she had dreamed of so often, let the ice cube slide over it and then gently pushed it into his mouth.

Sherlock protested, but closed his lips around it. Molly giggled as she saw the bulge in his cheek and poked it with a finger. Her plaything grunted and turned his head away. Even after Molly pinched his nipple he didn’t look at her – well, turn his head in her direction.

Seemed he was pouting, which was quite cute. Molly had never thought it possible that it would upset the great Sherlock Holmes that she hadn’t kissed him. To make peace with him, she kissed his cheek instead, once, twice. But then sneaky Sherlock Holmes quickly turned his head, trying to steal the kiss she was denying him. He failed however, only catching the corner of her mouth.

With a frustrated groan he spit out the half-melted cube. It landed on the carpet. Molly suppressed a giggle and twisted his nipple.

Sherlock bit down on his lip.

Molly twisted harder, now bringing her nail in play.

His muscles tensed, she could see how desperately he tried to stay calm. The groan burst out of him when she pulled quite roughly.

“Damn you, Molly Hooper,” he cursed hoarsely.

She knew he didn't mean that, for the lovely cock between her thighs was still hot and throbbing. But she stood up anyway. To punish him was only one reason. The other was her own lust tingling beneath her skin. This need for him was strong; his scent and warmth, that beautiful body, his moans and groans. God, she wanted him bad. A part of her wanted to just rip off his briefs and impale herself on his cock. That long, hard, begging cock...

But Sherlock wasn't ready yet. His cock might be begging, but his mind was still fighting her. Molly wanted to hear him beg, as well. Before she could continue the teasing though, she had to take a little rest or the consulting detective would come before the real fun even began. Not that this wasn't fun. It was the best birthday gift ever.

  
  


Looking at the blindfolded face, Molly began to unbutton her blouse. She took her time, using it to cool down a bit. Also she wanted to give Sherlock something to do, an opportunity to get his mind working again. She knew he despised it when his body took control.

As expected Sherlock's head tilted to the side, his ears listening to her every move. A jolt rushed through Molly when he tensed and his jaw clenched. He knew what she was doing.   
Suddenly it felt like he was watching her. Her heart beat faster and heat filled her cheeks. She smiled and bit her lip as she opened the next button. And the next. Tilting her head to the side, she rubbed her thighs together. Sherlock's jaw clenched again.

When the last button was done, Molly slowly brushed the fabric off her shoulders. Sherlock's head moved. Other than that he sat very still, breathed very flatly. He listened so intensely.

The blouse fell to the floor. He gulped. His lips moved. Molly smiled. He had mouthed the word 'bra'.

She reached behind her back, her spine cracking between her shoulders. The cost of working bent over corpses. His chest heaved. As slowly as the blouse she removed her bra, keeping her eyes on him. A cool breeze hit her naked breasts and her eyes fluttered shut. Like ghost fingers did the air caress her sensitive nipples and Molly wished they were Sherlock's. But he wouldn't do this tonight. His hands would remain tied to the armrests of his chair.

She opened her eyes before she dropped the bra on the floor, saw how his elegant hands balled into fists.

“Your knickers, Molly...please.”

Her heart skipped a beat at this hoarse plead. Feeling all his senses on her, she placed her fingers on her throat. From there they wandered down, brushing over her breasts, down her flat belly. Sherlock's chest was rising and falling quickly, his lips still parted.

Torturingly slow for both of them, Molly hooked her fingers into the waistband of her knickers and pulled them down her thighs, her knees, her calves. After she stepped out of them, Sherlock let out a breath he had been holding. His hands flexed, then he reached them out. They trembled.

Molly remained in her spot, looking at him. His ties strained as he tried to reach out further. His entire body tensed when she still wouldn't move. Sherlock pressed his lips together and gulped.

“...Please...please...”

His words felt like warm raindrops running down her body. Molly's heart was aching, her body screaming for his touch. Did he feel the same? Did he feel this...need?

When he pleaded again, she almost believed it.

The breath got stuck in his throat when he heard her feet move over the carpet. Molly couldn't breathe, either. Her eyes were fixated on his right hand; this hand she loved so much. Now almost frightened, she stepped in his reach.

Her thigh brushed against his middle finger. Both let out a breath. And then, Lord help her...

  
  


Molly's eyes fluttered close as Sherlock's shaking fingers slowly ran over her thigh. Slowly, ever so gently did he feel her skin, every inch he could reach. Molly got goose bumps and moved her leg when his fingertips wanted to explore the sensitive skin of the insides of her thighs. She couldn't help the little gasp that escaped her lips. Sherlock puffed out some air, so Molly opened her eyes. 

Her entire body quivered when she saw the expression on his face, those parted lips and raised eyebrows mirroring his fascination.

Molly's heart ached. Never had she felt more beautiful than right now.

Further and further did his fingers travel up her inner thigh. When he reached the point where his ties didn't allow him to continue his journey, he let out a shaky breath.

“Molly...please...I want...I need to touch you. Please. God, please.”

It was a soothing balm for her aching heart to hear him beg for her like this. With a smile she stepped away.

Sherlock gasped.

“No. No. Molly!”

His muscles flexed and he pulled at his bonds. For a second he looked like he wanted to scream. But when Molly put her knee on the chair once more, he instantly relaxed and lifted his head in her direction, impatiently shifting in his seat.

Molly knelt over him, close enough that he could feel the heat of her body. When she didn't embrace him, Sherlock tried to cheat again. Of course Molly had anticipated it and gently pushed him back into his seat. Sherlock let out a frustrated breath and let his head fall back. Molly kept her eyes on him as she reached down...

  
  


Sherlock's head snapped up as the first sound reached his ears. Molly blushed furiously, but she kept moving her fingers, her eyes fixed on his mouth. His lips were parted, as were hers. Together they panted as Molly stroke herself, letting him listen to the sounds of it; letting him hear how wet she already was; for him. All for him.

Due to her hand still being pressed on his chest, Molly could feel Sherlock's thundering heartbeat, felt his chest heaving, and heard his ragged breath.

Once again he pushed against her hand, tried to unite their bodies. When she denied him, he let out a sound close to a sob.

“God, Molly. Please. I can't stand this. No more. Please, no more...It hurts so bad.”

The text M had sent popped up in her head and a wave of fear rushed through her. Her hand stilled between her leg. Frightened, she looked at him with wide eyes, finally seeing the signs of his suffering. Her hand cupped his face and she pressed her forehead against his. Sherlock panted against her lips. With every stroke of her thumb over his cheekbone Molly told him that he could trust her; that he was safe with her; that she would never leave him.

After a while, Sherlock's breath slowed down.

“Please kiss me, Molly,” did he whisper, tilting his head up. For one wonderful second, their lips were not even an inch away. Molly shivered as his nose nudged hers. How bad she wanted to kiss him...

But he wasn't himself right now. He was vulnerable. She would never take advantage of his emotions like this. So she kissed him on both covered eyes and on the tip of his nose. Letting out a desperate sound he pressed his face into her neck and took a deep breath.   
“Why don't you want me?”

How could he think something like that?

To show him what he meant to her she slung her arms around him. Finally, their naked bodies melted together.

Sherlock moaned into her neck. The sensation of their touching bodies overwhelmed them both. Molly closed her eyes. Time became meaningless for them as she tightly embraced the man she loved more than anything in this world. They listened to each others' heartbeat; how it slowed down and synchronized. They felt their bodies, their skin, his chest hair, her hot breasts.

Every distance emotional in nature melted away. Her fear to get hurt. His fear to love. Banished into the furthest corners of their minds. Tonight was not about that. Tonight was not about overcoming those obstacles.

Tonight was about love.

“Will you really not kiss me?” Sherlock asked after a felt eternity.

Molly shook her head, knowing he could feel the movement in her neck.

“Will you fuck me?”

A shiver ran down her spine, his question only a whisper.

Biting down on her lip, she nodded.

“Will you make me beg?”

She nodded again, a cheeky smile on her lips.

“Then go ahead. But don't be too cruel, Molly. I am already aching for you...so much.”

While he spoke, his mouth had traveled up her neck and was now brushing over her earlobe. Molly gasped and goose bumps spread on her neck.

Oh, that man was dangerous.

Feeling cheeky she bit into his neck, his surprised moan causing her to grin. Before he could take his revenge she leaned back and pushed him into his seat.

“I don't like the distance,” did Sherlock admit.

Neither did she. But he would get the opportunity to feel her again sooner than he thought.

 


	4. Such a good boy

Once more Molly stood in front of sitting Sherlock, this time naked as God had made her. The man was silent for a change, calmly waiting for her next move. His dick was still outlined underneath his grey briefs, big and hard. There were still some toys to use before Molly would set it free.

After a short contemplation she went for the Wartenberg wheel.

The moment the sharp pin dug into the skin of his shoulder, he flinched. When the wheel had reached his neck, Sherlock deduced it.

“A Wartenberg neurowheel. Designed to test nerve reactions...I get its utility in foreplay,” he ended hoarsely as Molly leisurely rolled the shiny steel wheel over his throat. Sherlock sunk back into his chair while his torturess rolled the pins of the wheel across his bottom lip. His mouth opened. Molly shivered when the tip of his tongue slipped out. Carefully, she rolled the pins over it. Sherlock gasped.

He really did look beautiful with his tongue hanging out, Molly thought, and did it again. Then she rolled down and began exploring his chest.

A throaty moan escaped him and he flinched when the pins dug into his left nipple. Molly grinned. During the next few minutes, Sherlock would do this a lot. And Molly had the time of her life watching him. He began panting when she reached his thighs and began curving around his cock, the pins poking through the fabric of his briefs into his sensitive flesh. His entire body was tense and squirming in the leather seat and he puffed out a breath of air when the sharp pins stung the top of his inner thigh. When he spread his legs, a shiver ran up Molly's spine. So offering, her little plaything. She really loved seeing him like this. It made her kneel down between those spread, muscular legs. Sherlock gasped.

“Jesus,” did he whisper with a great deal of desperation, and he shifted down, his hips jerking.

Molly couldn't help but roll her eyes. All men were the same, weren't they? They all wanted their dicks to be sucked. Even the great Sherlock Holmes.

'Mind over matter my ass,' Molly thought.

With a wicked grin she put the Wartenberg wheel on the floor and laid her hands on his knees. Watching his face closely – how he pressed his lips together and knitted his eyebrows – she spread his legs as far apart as possible. Ever so slowly did her outstretched fingers glide up his thighs.

Momentarily Molly was distracted by his soft skin and the little hairs underneath her hand. In little circles did she move, exploring every inch of his thighs, from brushing the kneecap with just her finger tips to firmly kneading the muscles with her hands. All the while Sherlock's hips were slightly rolling and jerking, trying to catch her attention. Oh so needy. Teasing him even more she wandered to the insides of his thighs and, using just the tips of her fingers, traveled north until they touched his knickers. Another pant reached her eyes and his hips jerked a bit. A wicked smile adorned her lips when she slipped into his briefs, just the fingertips again. She felt the heat of his cock as she brushed from side to side, wandering a bit further, almost touching the hot bulge in the middle without actually doing it.

Sherlock was very brave in all this. He gasped and squirmed and tried to move his hips so that her hands would finally, finally touch his throbbing cock. He tried to be a good boy, Molly could clearly see him struggling. But in the end, he couldn't stand it anymore.

“Please,” he panted, “please. Please, please, please.”

Molly couldn't help the little triumphant giggle that burst out of her. To her surprise, he didn't snap or protest. He just begged some more.

Her hands stilled on his hipbones, halfway in his briefs.

When he realized it, he let out a frustrated groan and let his head plop onto the backrest. His chest was heaving and his breath was ragged.

He was so beautiful in his suffering it made Molly's heart flutter in her chest.

“My skin is burning. My heart is beating erratically. I feel light-headed, most probably because of the lacking blood supply.”

Molly grinned at this. How sweet he was, deducing himself.

“My mind is foggy, I can't think logically. My head is overwhelmed with data...of you. All I think and feel is you. And those bloody animalistic instincts. I want to gnaw through the cords around my wrists and then...then I want to bury my head between your legs so I can taste your pussy. You can't imagine how badly I want to know what you taste like, Molly...And what it feels like having your mouth sucking my cock...How hot it is. What your tongue feels like...how you move it...how strong the suction will be...what sounds you make doing it...having your breath hit my skin while you take it all...Jesus Christ!”

Sherlock's entire body jerked up and he pulled roughly on his ties, his head turned from side to side.

Oh, how much he longed for her, her darling!

Should she have mercy on him?

His entire body was trembling and hot beneath her hands. If she would grant his wish and take him into her mouth now, she was sure he wouldn't last long. Molly was good at sucking dick. And she loved doing it. And she had had very many, very filthy dreams about just a scene like this, sucking him while he sat in his chair.

But she wanted to enjoy it longer than a minute.

No, she concluded, now was not the time.

Sherlock let out a whimper when she pulled her hands out of his knickers. His hands reached out for her, his wrists already red from all his struggling. Reassuring him that she wouldn't leave him, Molly tenderly kissed his kneecap, letting her mouth linger for a moment.

She had never kissed a man's knee before, she thought with an inward smile.

“Please, Molly. Give me something. Anything! I'm going insane. Let me touch you again. Hug me. I need to feel your skin. Just for a moment. Please. Please...”

Molly brushed her cheek against his inner thigh and stroke the outside with her hand. Sherlock moved his leg until it was pressed against her side and his foot kneaded her calf. Instantly a bit of tension left his body. Molly was surprised; and touched. She kissed his inner thigh.

For almost a minute they sat like this, Sherlock blindly staring at the ceiling, his mouth open, still breathing flatly. When Molly saw how he licked his lips her pussy twitched.

His words were swirling in her head and before she completely understood what she was doing, her eyes wandered over the seat.

If she knelt on the armrests...

A mental picture appeared in front of her eyes, so clear, so vivid, that she flinched. Her pussy twitched again and she felt more heat and wetness gather between her thighs.

Good Lord, what was she thinking?!

No, she couldn't!

…

No, she didn't dare.

 

_All yours._  


'All mine...'

Her eyes fixated his open mouth. That unique, fascinating, heavenly mouth...

 

Molly found herself on her feet. Sherlock's head turned in her direction when she walked around the chair to stand next to him. With her heart drumming against her rib cage she stared at him.

She had never dared to do such a thing.

“Molly?”

He opened his palm. She only blinked.

“What? What's wrong? Talk to me.”

Instead of answering him she placed a hand on her belly and bit her lip. With her eyes fixed on his face she let the trembling fingers wander down, down...

Sherlock's brows shot up when he heard. Out of the corners of her eyes she saw the cock in his briefs twitch.

Molly could barely breathe.

Yet, she pushed two fingers into her wet cave. Sherlock stiffened and listened intensely. Once again it felt like he was watching her. Molly shivered and moved her fingers. Once. Twice.

Then she pulled out.

Sherlock gasped at the wet sound.

Without a word he understood, and Molly's heart skipped a beat when he lifted his head and opened his mouth.

Her wet fingers were shaking as she reached out.

Her own lips were parted when she ran the tip of her middle finger over his full bottom lip. His tongue darted out, licked the wetness off. A shudder ran through him and with a throaty moan he sucked his lip into his mouth.

It was the most erotic thing she had ever seen.

“More. Please.”

His mouth opened again and Molly panted. Her heart was beating in her throat. Carefully she entered his mouth with both her fingers.

Sherlock's loud groan surprised her and she flinched when he firmly closed his lips around her fingers and sucked hard. Shiver after shiver ran up and down her body as Sherlock Holmes licked and sucked her juice off her fingers. He was so hungry for her, she still couldn't believe it.

With a sucking sound he let the fingers plop out of her mouth when there wasn't anything left of her on them.

“More, Molly! Give me more. Please. All. I want it all.”

He was back to squirming in his seat and pulling at his bonds.

God, how much she loved him right now. His desire for her filled and healed the countless holes he had stabbed into her heart.

“Come to me. I want your sweet pussy on my mouth. God, that sweet, sweet pussy. Climb on the chair. You can put your knees on the armrests. The backrest will support your thighs. Totally doable. Please, Molly! Please, I'll do anything you want just...let me have you. Just for a little while. I'm yours, Molly. I'm all yours. Please...let me have you...”

His begging made her heart ache and she let her hands weave through his hair before she cradled his face, this beautiful face. How could she say no to him now?

Soothingly she stroke his cheekbones with her thumbs. Then she put her knee on the armrest.

Sherlock whispered a desperate 'oh God' when he felt the leather yield. He guided her with words, told her where to place her hands for support. Then Molly swung her leg over, almost losing balance. She'd never been a graceful woman. But the knee landed on the other armrest and Molly flinched when Sherlock's breath hit her pubic mound.

“Do you have a good hold? Tell me by grabbing my hair. I can barely contain myself. I can smell you now...my mouth his filling with saliva...”

Molly smiled and shifted around a bit, just as impatient as her consulting detective was. When she felt secure, she looked down, her heart beating even faster at the sight of Sherlock's face right in front of her drenched pussy. As soon as she grabbed his hair, he lifted his head.

Molly flinched and gasped when first his nose, then his cheek pushed against her pubic mound.

“Didn't think you were one for a landing strip, Molly Hooper. But then again I never thought you'd beat me with a riding crop.”

She smiled and wove trough his full hair. Her lips were parted as his nose brushed up and down the dark strip of pubic hair. She gasped again when she saw and felt the tip of his tongue glide around the edges.

What a feeling. Her pussy was throbbing with need while he continued to explore her pubic mound with his tongue, licking the V-shape of her pelvis and placing feathery kisses on her bald skin. It was so sensual and tender, but absolutely frustrating. Obviously, he was paying her back. She couldn't blame him. If he suffered half as much as she did now, she deserved the pain. It took all her self-control to not press his face against her sopping pussy.

Suddenly, a nip. Molly twitched and fisted her hand into his hair.

“Your scent is driving me insane. My cock is aching for your cunt, Molly. I can't wait a second longer. I need to-”

His tongue plowed through her slit.

Molly squealed and roughly pulled back his head. It was totally out of surprise, but he thought she had punished him.

“I'm sorry. I'll be good now. I promise,” came his hoarse reply.

And when she let him go...

Gosh, he really was a good boy.

Such a very, very good boy...

  


Molly quivered at the apologetic kiss Sherlock pressed blindly onto her pubic mound. She eased the grip on his hair and slowly straightened. The tip of his tongue slid down her pubic hair and then gently dipped into the cleft of her labia.

Molly bit her lip and her eyes fluttered close. Now just as blind as him, she only felt. Felt the wet tip explore the hills and valleys of her hot flesh, retreating from time to time to feed his mouth with her juice. His hot breath hit her mound when he breathed loudly through his nose. A second later the tongue was back, licking from bottom to top with the flat side, ever so slowly, drinking more of her.

Molly shivered.

She had dreamed of this so many times, still it couldn't live up to reality. Never had she imagined him to cherish her like that, to relish in her taste so obviously. His tongue was thorough, tasting every inch, circling the outer labia just with the tip before it rolled over her clit and down to gently nudge against her entrance.

Every little sigh and moan from her lips did he use as guidance and within minutes he had learnt exactly what drove her crazy.

She cursed and blessed his magnificent gifts, and flinched again when he pressed a tender but firm kiss on her clit.

“I want to make you come, Molly. Can I?”

His voice was hoarse and hot against her flesh. She nodded, momentarily forgetting that he was blindfolded. A look down reminded her. So she stroke his hair and gently pulled his head against her cunt.

“Thank you,” did he breathe against her flesh.

Then his tongue entered her cave, sudden an unexpected. Molly moaned and almost lost her balance. She clawed her fingers into the backrest of his chair and stared down at her plaything, who was lapping at her cunt like a drowning man now. He fucked her with his tongue, pushed in deep and fast, only to pull out and torture her swollen clit with firm flicks.

He shouldn't be so good at this, she thought as she desperately clung to the chair, her legs shaking in the rhythm of his strokes.

When her nipples hardened and tingled, she knew it wouldn't take long now. Somehow, Sherlock knew, too. He groaned against her flesh and closed his beautiful lips around her clit, sucking hard, making obnoxiously loud noises.

Molly loved it. It drove her even faster.

With a loud squeal she came on his face, shaking and panting and moaning. Her head was spinning as wave after wave rolled through her body. From afar she heard Sherlock groan and moan, felt him lap and suck at her cunt, prolonging her ecstasy and turning it into torture when her flesh became too sensitive.

With a desperate gasp she grabbed his hair and pulled him away from her, only to sink onto his lap where his hard cock pressed against her soaked pussy. They moaned in unison at the contact.

Panting hard Molly slung her arms around him and pressed her face into his neck, breathing in his scent.

Holy shit! She had just come on Sherlock's face. Sherlock Holmes had eaten her out!

Another tiny orgasm overcame her and she shuddered against his lean, warm body.

His head turned and he pressed his lips against her jaw, her neck, every inch of her he could reach. The wetness made her look up.

She shivered when he saw his lips and his chin shine with her juice. She giggled. To her surprise, he flashed her a proud grin and licked his bottom lip.

“You're delicious.”

Molly blushed and reached for a tissue. Cupping his chin she wiped herself off his face. Then she snuggled against him again, stroking his face with hers and placing a kiss on the corner of his lips.

“Still no kiss...,” he sighed, “I gave my best, you know.”

She smiled and placed her index finger onto her lips, kissing it soundly before pressing it onto his lips.

He only grunted a complaint. If he would have been able to, he'd rolled his eyes at her.

With a happy and relaxed sigh she rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes, enjoying the buzz after climax and Sherlock's calming heartbeat against her chest.


End file.
